


Our Wild Hearts

by antebellumera



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Captain!Ennoshita, Characters and Relationships Tagged in Order of Importance, F/F, Happy Ending, Shimizu is bad at feelings, Slow Build, Tags and Pairings and Rating are Subject to Change, The First Years are Second Years Now, Yachi is head over heels in love, gay angst, lesbians in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antebellumera/pseuds/antebellumera
Summary: Yes, she loves volleyball now. If not the sport itself, then she loves everything it stands for, and she loves the people who perpetuate that meaning. And she would have never known this sort of passion, would have never dared even get close to that gym she regards as a second home now, if she had not fallen in love with Shimizu Kiyoko the moment she called out her name in the school hallway.In which Yachi Hitoka is hopelessly in love and no one at Karasuno High School can claim that they are well-versed in the intricacies of navigating romance.abandoned and awaiting inspiration + a potential rework





	

**Author's Note:**

> chapter title taken from twin size mattress by the front bottoms

_It’s the end of the world,_ Yachi thinks. _This is what the end of the world is like, and I’m staring right at it._

Hosting the third years’ farewell party made complete sense when she offered up her not-so-humble abode to the rest of the underclassmen. Her mother was due to be somewhere in western Europe (her various exotic destinations all blur together at this point) on a business trip the week of Karasuno’s graduation ceremony, and the aforementioned woman’s fondness for throwing frequent mixers consisting of only the most influential people in her field of work meant that, in choosing this particular apartment, an abundance of room and fashionable details were neatly checked off her “Absolutely Must Have” list. Besides, Yachi has spent the past year with one persistent thought floating in the back of her mind every so often, frequently sneaking a bite into her nerves and causing her to tap her foot a little too fast in her desk:

That she does not do nearly enough for the volleyball team.

Most certainly not enough compared to how much Shimizu does. It is an irrational concern; she’s a trainee, not a real manager. 

Not that it matters all that much how illogical she can be. Writing _Volleyball Team Manager_ on her résumé and applications always feels like an outright lie, a tremendously fake statement flowing right out of her pen and onto the paper. So what if she was told explicitly that she needn't concern herself with Shimizu's duties prematurely when the following year would hand her just as much work, if not more, in spades for days, and so what if she knows that she isn't supposed to even be lighting a candle to hold next to Shimizu. She doesn't let herself be free of worry. Being free of worry would make her less of the person that she is. 

That was her primary motivation in raising her hand hesitantly when Ennoshita approached her and the other first years after practice to breach the subject of a gathering held in honor of their graduating teammates, smiling gently as she said, “I wouldn’t mind having it at my apartment.”

Her rationale made sense to the others. And asking her mother for permission had resulted in a flurry of giggles and an unnecessarily melodramatic praising of God.

“Oh, _Hitoka_!” Yachi Madoka had pressed her hands tightly on either side of her face, stars glistening in her eyes, half-finished lipstick and eyeshadow glaring the much shorter girl in the eyes. It made her flush to see her mother so overjoyed at the prospect of venturing outside of her comfort zone for once. She was aware of how much of a social disappointment she was, thanks very much. “My own Hitoka, throwing a party while I’m not home. I never thought this glorious day would come!”

Well. Here was the day, come and – quite regrettably – not gone.

Try as she might to not step too far into Shimizu’s territory before the territory is properly bequeathed to her, she has tentatively started to think of these wild and marvelous and horrifically rambunctious boys as somewhat her own. It’s not that much, barely even possessive, it’s just a warm and tender jumble of knotty feelings tethered to the bottom of her stomach when Hinata plays with her hair before running onto the court or when Yamaguchi tells her how much he appreciates her help when they are gathering the endless balls from the emptying gym.

At this moment, she would only think to label them horrifically – terribly, awfully, unfortunately – rambunctious.

_It really is the end of the world, right here in my own home._

“Kageyama-kun! Stop pinching Hinata-kun!” She is huffing, flailing her arms. So much for channeling her much more controlled manager of a senpai; she cannot imagine that Shimizu would ever think to stomp her feet anxiously as the worst duo – an astonishing title to earn, considering that Tanaka and Nishinoya have already destroyed one and a half of her mother’s porcelain bowls – of the entire bunch does their best to tear each other to pieces. Considering the boys' proficiency on the court and her slow reflexes, she doesn't dare throw a challenging hand out to stop them before they can do more damage. Kageyama would likely stop her in half a second, anyway. 

“Yeah!” Hinata affirms, his red cheek doing all the more to strengthen his statement. In annoyed protest, he combats Kageyama’s persistent hand as it dives toward the smaller boy’s thus far untouched cheek. “Listen to Yachi-san! She has common sense, unlike y— _ow_!”

“Only if you stop being a dumbass, dumbass.”

“You _were_ supposed to bring plastic cutlery just in case, Kageyama.” Ennoshita emerges as a voice of reason, already consciously mimicking the authoritative tone that Daichi puts on whenever he has to play the role of a harried father for his younger teammates. Yachi almost startles at his sudden presence next to her, slight but faux annoyance on his face. It is almost impossible to genuinely find the young dream team a nuisance. To his credit, he manages to hide any lack of confidence he may have. No one doubts that he is going to be able to perform as well in Daichi. “Hinata was just scolding you in good jest.”

“What he said,” Yachi huffs, gesturing at the new captain. “I just don’t—I don’t know if we can use the fancy dining set I planned to use now that it’s incomplete, and the placemats I ordered online didn’t come in on time, and Narita-san is late but he’s the one bringing a cake from his mom’s bakery! How can we send off the third years without a _cake_?”

Kageyama has grown still, staring at Yachi with a hopelessly stoic expression that makes her want to grind her teeth together. The only time he shows that he cares about anything is when he has a volleyball in his hand or Hinata under his glare. He probably has no remorse for having deemed plastic cutlery and plates something he had no time to get, and here she is almost pulling her hair out of its roots from the stress. 

From the kitchen, Tanaka shouts, “Don’t worry, my dependable Hitoka-chan! We’ve almost got one of these things glued back together!”

The thought of Tanaka and Nishinoya turning her kitchen into a broken bowl repair shop makes her want to cry.

It is Hinata, ever the emotional sponge, that is moved by her burst of emotion and begins tugging at the disobedient strands of hair atop his head standing up at every possible angle. His nose crinkles, his brows furrow. Though the house may smell like the cinnamon candles that Yachi arranged neatly earlier, no one's moods are quite as sweet today. “This is a disaster, a real real real disaster! I wish Daichi and Suga were here to tell us what to do.”

“Moron,” Kageyama mutters, aiming another thwarted pinch at Hinata’s cheek. “We’re doing this _for them_.”

Kinoshita wanders out of the kitchen, rubbing his hand questioningly. “Yachi-san, I think I got some of those broken shards in my finger while I was cleaning. Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Tsukki! Careful or you’re going to fall!”

Yamaguchi’s concerns for the tall boy currently standing on the second to highest step of a ladder to place a handmade banner reading _CONGRATULATIONS TO THE CROWS LEAVING THE NEST!_ – artwork and lettering by Nishinoya, who can draw very nice crows but not much else – on the obscenely high wall are brushed off by Tsukishima, who only says, “Shush and hand me more thumb tacks.”

Yachi lectures her inner screams, which are begging to be released, and smiles weakly at Kinoshita’s sheepish wince of a grin. “Of course, senpai. Follow me to the bathroom.”

After getting the injured boy settled and disinfecting his cut, Yachi shuffles back into the heart of the mess just as a knock sounds on the thick wooden door. She doesn't have time to stop an overexcited Hinata, who shouts, “I’ll get it!” only to be raced to the door by Kageyama. Their hands clash on the doorknob, resulting in a seconds-long fist fight, before Kageyama pries the door open in a rush.

“Didn’t your moms teach you to help old men?” Coach Ukai grunts out immediately upon seeing them. Rightfully so, as he is hauling five trays of food in his stout arms, and both Kageyama and Hinata flush as they relieve their coach of the weight. Ennoshita quickly hurries to do the same for Takeda, who is right behind Ukai and streaming out a mess of apologies for their tardiness. And Yachi feels about a quarter of her anxiety fly away when Narita follows after them with a large cake propped atop two aluminum trays.

“My mom’s car broke down,” says Narita, apologizing when Yachi walks over to help him by removing the cake from his other two possessions. “I had to call Coach to ask for a ride.”

“You’re here now,” Yachi smiles, though she still has a few hundred other reasons for her heart to be beating far too quickly to be healthy as the clock nears closer and closer to 5:00 PM and they’ve yet to finish setting up. 

 _I'm going to murder these boys_ , she thinks, stumbling to the kitchen in a few quick steps. _My future will be ruined over a party gone wrong._

“And more importantly,” Hinata chimes in, “the cake is here, too.”

“ _Fuck_!”

“Noya-san! Stop cursing! Sensei is here!”

“Oh, fu—sorry, Sensei!”

Yachi stands in the doorway, long awaited cake in her arms, Tanaka holding up porcelain shards and looking absolutely grief-stricken.

“I’m so sorry, Yachi-chan,” Nishinoya cries, putting his face in his hands. “We broke them both again. And we were almost done putting them back together.”

“It’s no trouble,” Yachi’s words come out mechanical, with a flair of false and monotonous politeness. “I don’t mind. Please don’t worry, Noya-senpai.”

“She’s mad,” Kageyama observes.

“I’m really not.” Yachi is still numb, unmoving in her stance, and aware of Hinata very visibly trying not to bounce up and down while Ukai and Takeda glance at their new manager warily. It's hard not to lose face in front of them. She wants to look strong, she does, but the pre-party hours have been full of catastrophe and she isn't good at fixing things like her mom. Like Shimizu. Pair that with three hours of sleep, and it's no wonder that this is happening to her.  “I’ll clean up the broken pieces. Please help Tsukishima-kun put up the banner and then make yourselves comfortable on the couch.”

“We can’t let you do that,” Tanaka protests. “We’ll clean it, and then we’ll—”

“Enough damage has been done, Tanaka!” Nishinoya’s eyes are almost wide enough for his eyeballs to roll out of his head.

“Settle down, guys.” But Ennoshita’s command is in vain. His voice is much more bashful now that the real elders are here when he says, “We're meant to be working quietly, together, to put this all together.”

“Tsukki, I can’t reach you—”

“Stretch your arm more.”

“But—”

Yachi’s heart plummets down like a broken elevator. She really, really, _really_ hopes that persistent series of hard _plops_ is not a result of spilled thumb tacks against a coffee table.

“Tanaka and Nishinoya can help arrange the trays!” Takeda jumps in, clasping his hands together and giving Yachi a look that says _I know how you feel_. Of all the people she has met after joining on as manager trainee, it is Takeda that she relates to the most. Beyond the fact that he can be just quiet as her (a talent none of the others have, even Ukai with his bursts of athletic passion), there is the fact that he is almost as clueless as her. It's comforting to know she isn't the only one struggling to understand the complexities of volleyball. 

But no, Ukai thinks it is best if the boys shut their traps and clean up the broken porcelain before someone else gets hurt, and Kinoshita skirts in to second that notion, and Kageyama stomps over to Tsukishima and starts blaming him for making Yamaguchi drop the box of his mom's thumb tacks that he promised to return, and Ennoshita is trying to talk to Takeda over the screaming match of guilty apologies and accusations that Tanaka and Nishinoya and Hinata are having, and Yachi says, "Can I please clean the kitchen, can everyone just step out please?" but no one listens, and a neighbor next door bangs on the part of the the wall directly behind where Yachi is standing in a blatant demand for them to  _quiet down, goddamn_. 

And suddenly – miraculously – everyone falls quiet when a soft knock is heard by all.

“But we’re all here,” Nishinoya quietly says, looking around at those paralyzed by the knock. “Who can that...”

“I’ll get it,” says Yachi, dejectedly, and she gently puts the cake down on the wooden table, passing by the arguing trio in the living room and very pointedly ignoring them.

It’s like a higher power is watching over Yachi at all times, figuring out the best ways to add insult to injury, because she opens the door the way one peels off a band aid and Shimizu Kiyoko is standing there, as glorious as the rising sun, in pale pink pants that accentuate her long legs and a white shirt that makes Yachi dizzy.

“My Karasuno Volleyball Club senses were going off,” she says, as soft as her knock. “Can I help set up?”

“Shimizu-senpai,” Yachi’s eyes grow wet. She hopes the older girl does not notice under the dim light of the hallway. “This party is for you. And the other third years.”

“That's funny, Hitoka-chan." Shimizu shakes her head and walks past her, inviting herself in. The friendly taunt in her voice is well-intentioned, Yachi knows. It makes her turn far more red than she would like to be. “You think I would leave you alone with this hot mess of a boys’ volleyball team?”

Yachi wishes that the weight of the universe would not fly away so easily upon being presented by Shimizu’s mere presence. Naturally, Yachi rarely gets what it is that she asks the gods above to grant her. So, in that moment, she is relieved. Hopelessly and irrevocably relieved. And it is all because of Shimizu Kiyoko, her soft knock, and the white shirt she is wearing.

As if she is so pure that she has nothing to worry about.

Still standing with the door knob in her hand, Yachi hears an observing Shimizu say, with a shake of her head audible in her tone, “Why do you boys always break other people’s things?”

How easy it is to forget all past troubles when Shimizu is here.

 

* * *

 

The ease is temporary, it turns out, because Yachi finds herself fidgeting as she walks to the nearby convenience store with Shimizu by her side.

“Sorry you had to go and scold them like that,” she says hurriedly, sighing and sticking her hands in the pockets of her flower print dress. This outfit is not even one of her favorites, or close to being one of her favorites. Outside of school, she hates wearing anything but shorts or jeans. But Shimizu is so beautiful, and when she found herself contemplating what to put on in anticipation of the older girl’s visit to her house, she dug out her old dresses and found this garment hiding beneath a pile of shoes. The sleeves go down to her elbows, and the skirt is right above her knees. The breeze tickles her knees like it tickles Shimizu's long hair. She feels distinctly uncomfortable next to Shimizu and her casual spring clothes, especially when this is the dress she wore to her cousin’s wedding and her mother’s gallery opening. 

Yachi continues before Shimizu can respond. “We wanted to do something for you and the others. It’s simple, I know, just a gathering, but we couldn’t even get ourselves organized enough to do that.”

The words that go unsaid in that moment are perhaps the loudest, but Yachi is certain that she will never have the correct brand of courage – if she ever claims a bit of courage for herself at all – to say them. They should be easy, she knows that. Shimizu has never done anything to make her feel uncomfortable, minus inadvertently making her heart race every time they have the fortune of being together. What is more, she had made it clear that any emotional concerns she has regarding the team should be taken to her immediately. Months ago, when Yachi first signed on as Shimizu’s official manager trainee, the third year had met her eyes and said, “I better not hear that you’re keeping any issues from me. I know how stressful this position can be, so don’t ever doubt that I am not here for you. From here on out, every step you take as future manager of this club will be taken with me by your side.”

She had no idea then that those sentences would be the longest in a row that she has ever heard from Shimizu to this day, though she cannot truly resent her fondness for silent communication. Her smiles are enough as it is. Enough to drive her as crazy as her obscene want for Shimizu’s rarity of speech. So really, she should not be bursting to say something like (with no punctuation, because people in a hurry do not have the luxury of speaking in punctuation) _I’m so scared that I’m never going to be as good as you and I obviously keep proving that over and over again with how badly I mess up because when this team loses you it’s going to be like losing a limb or losing a mother and God knows I’m not good enough to be that replacement limb or their replacement mother and also I have all these personal feelings that I don’t let myself think about often because it would make my job way harder but it’s getting harder not to think about them especially when you’re standing right here in that beautiful white shirt._

The words stay put in her throat.

It is silent between them then, as they approach the corner that they must turn on to get to the store and buy the cutlery and plates that Kageyama neglected to bring. When Yachi finally dares glance at Shimizu, she finds a scolding look. Shimizu's frown is always scathing no matter the severity of the situation, shaped into an upside down V that may as well be a dagger, and her face seems to widen, stretched out by irritation. Even then, the most telling feature of her curious expressions of anger is the crease the dips into the left corner of her lip as she bites the inside of her mouth and examines her next action or words. 

In short, Shimizu is a force to be reckoned with whether she is upset about someone forgetting to pay their meager club dues or a hotheaded athlete from another school caressing her shoulder inappropriately in front of the entire team. 

(It's happened. It wasn't pretty. Yachi still thinks about it for a few different reasons.) 

She thinks it's going to be explosive, but it isn't. And that is most surprising of all.

The older girl says, in a voice tinted with a feather-like care, “I apologize for Karasuno all the time, so I know you’ll have to accustom yourself to doing that. But you have no reason to do that with me of all people.”

“Shimizu-senpai, I didn’t mean—” Her face heats up, boiling blood beneath the surface itching at her skin in embarrassment. “Here I am, already acting like I’m manager, and I’m not—I’m sorry—”

“Hey.” Shimizu halts, reaches out a long slender arm and puts her hand on Yachi’s shoulder to stop her as well. It takes Yachi a moment, but her breaths begin to near an even pace. “It’s fine, Hitoka-chan. I appreciate you doing this for us.”

Yachi sucks in a deep breath, then pouts despite herself. “But now it’s like you’re doing it for yourself.”

“Hardly.” Shimizu resumes her pace, removing her hand. The place where it was burns like Yachi’s blood. “The boys are the ones doing the hard labor. As it should be, after what they put you through.”

Though the older girl keeps walking, Yachi feels like her toes are made of bricks and cannot move for a few extended seconds. She trails after Shimizu at last, her head hanging in defeat.

She murmurs, loud enough for Shimizu to take note, “Tsukishima-kun didn’t really do anything wrong. And Yamaguchi-kun made a simple mistake. I guess.”

“And Takeda-sensei is picking up the drinks Narita forgot,” Shimizu adds. Her tone suggests a sly wink, although Yachi cannot see her face and, also, she has never been witness to Shimizu winking at anything. “It all worked out in the end. Lighten up, Hitoka.”

_Lighten up._

Coming from Shimizu, those words sound more like a promise than a demand. Anyway, hearing her first name all by its lonesome dance off Shimizu’s tongue always makes her do just that. _Lighten up_.

Her lips curve up on their accord, and Yachi skips ahead of Shimizu to open the door of the convenience store for her.

“After you, senpai,” she chirps, beaming at full power now.

Shimizu grants her an observant look, and nudges her arm with her elbow as she passes.

“Good girl.”

For Shimizu’s sake, Yachi decides, she will lighten up.

 

* * *

 

When Shimizu Kiyoko approached her, smiling as if all the confidence in the world belonged in her smile. When she put trust in her without even knowing who she was, only aware of her existence because a serendipity of a club application found its way into her hands. When she explained her dire need for a new manager, the modest but genuine adoration for the team she dutifully managed shining through for Yachi to see.

That was when it started, but Yachi didn’t know that it started when it started. She should have known when she ended up following Shimizu like a needy cat fed by a kind stranger, purring _senpaiiii_ whenever a stray ball flew in her direction. Who the hell was she kidding? Volleyball is a sport for people with muscle on their arms and stomachs, incredibly strength in their legs. Her thighs are a little chubby, her stomach soft despite her small and thin build. She likes sitting at her computer and working at one day becoming a graphic designer like her mother, not just because she already has the connections but because she _likes_ it, she _likes_ making art on the fancy programs she pirated off her mom’s computer. She never liked volleyball, never liked any sport except maybe golf because she visited her uncle in America once and he took her to play mini golf a few times and it was mildly enjoyable.

If asked now, she won’t hesitate to express her appreciation for volleyball. It is not a lie, either. She _does_ appreciate volleyball now. Yes, she is aware she will never be able to replicate the moves she has watched the players act out, twisting and bending and pushing their bodies to impossible limits while all she can do is watch and draw on her tablet when the boys are doing drills that have no technique to which she needs to pay attention if she wants to be a knowledgeable manager. But she has spatial intelligence on her belt, at least, and sometimes she grips her tablet hard in case a ball comes flying in her direction and works at sketching the players and giving their techniques mnemonic devices so she at least sort of know what is going on. Hinata’s biggest and most powerful leap, in her mind, is _The Tallest Orange Tree._ Yamaguchi’s subtle but effective pinch serve is _The Little Crow that Could._

“The team works so hard,” she’ll tell her classmates, eyes growing tender at the thought of watching them practice relentlessly for hours after school and on the weekends. “Tsukishima-kun’s morale is really improving, and Ennoshita-san is going to be an amazing captain, and Nishinoya-san is faster than anything I’ve ever seen! I wouldn’t trade my time with them for the world.”

In recent months, she has been showered with unprecedented attention by boys and girls alike who are too shy to approach the ruggedly handsome group of award-winning volleyball players she is learning to (literally) manage but find the little blonde first year that hangs around them an adequate and safe substitute. If she had one yen for each time someone had asked her about Azumane, Sugawara, Kageyama, even Narita or Ennoshita and sometimes _Coach Ukai_ – “Hey, who is that handsome older guy that coaches the boys’ volleyball team?” – she would have enough wealth, surely, to challenge her mother’s well-earned fortune.

It makes her laugh, though she tends to save the laughter for when the inquirer has left. She has to wonder how they would feel if they knew that the boys are quite solidly immersed in their own little volleyball-filled utopia of homoeroticism (not all of them are confirmed comfortable members of this world, but she and Shimizu definitely have their suspicions about even the most testosterone-fueled members of the team) and find little time to communicate with the outside world. When they do peek their heads out of their worn out gym, it is usually to indulge family members or go out with friends – friends which are most likely other Karasuno Volleyball Club members, or players for another high school’s volleyball team.

(Yachi still has a difficult time remembering the names of opposing team’s volleyball players, but the captain with the weird hair and vaguely owl-like presence never fails to make her smile and the short kid with dyed blonde hair that Hinata says is her “guy doppelgänger” makes her feel better because he looks just as uncomfortable as she does when things get too hectic. And things _always_ get too hectic whenever volleyball players are around.)

Yes, she loves volleyball now. If not the sport itself, then she loves everything it stands for, and she loves the people who perpetuate that meaning. And she would have never known this sort of passion, would have never dared even get _close_ to that gym she regards as a second home now, if she had not fallen in love with Shimizu Kiyoko the moment she called out her name in the school hallway.

_Excuse me, are you Yachi Hitoka?_

Intimately being aware of this new passion. That was when she had realized how deep her feelings ran for the person who had introduced her to it in the first place.

Talking to Shimizu about flippant topics like how dense Tsukishima is when it comes to his feelings for Yamaguchi, or how laughably alike Kageyama is to him in that respect because of how much of an idiot he acts like around Hinata, or how Tanaka has dated both boys and girls, is easy. It’s like breathing. It makes Yachi wish that they could be something more like real friends, not just convenient gal pals sitting on the sidelines. They have studied together before, have been to each other’s houses to organize endless field trip clearance paperwork and the like, and Shimizu has invited her out with the girls’ volleyball team a few times – met, each of those times, with rejection fueled by the social anxiety that acts up when Yachi is around strangers.

She hasn’t even lied to Shimizu those few times, either. She has never made up a phony excuse to wiggle herself out of those plans.

“I’m not the best around people I don’t know,” she said to Shimizu, late one night after practice, when she was asked to go to a large birthday party the girls’ volleyball team captain, Michimiya Yui, was having. “And I’m even worse when it comes to big crowds. Thank you though, Shimizu-senpai.”

Shimizu had started tacking on a sensitive “if you can make it” at the end of her invitations. Then she had ceased the invitations altogether.

Out of courtesy.

The real reason that Yachi distanced herself had less to do with her inconvenient anxiety and more to do with the reason why she would never look twice at the boys’ volleyball team even if they did not already have their heads stuck in their private world. She loves girls; she dwells on it very little lest she panic too much about the social repercussions, and it is not like she actively goes after girls.

Shimizu Kiyoko is the only girl she has ever looked at this way – the first person she has ever looked at this way – and she’s sure that she would burst into tears from nervousness if she ever tried to confess.

 _Anyway,_ Yachi always thinks after imagining herself telling Shimizu how hopelessly in love with her she is, _I don’t even know if she likes girls_.

 

* * *

 

Shimizu insists on paying the meager amount for the disposable cutlery they pick up quickly and dart over to the cash register with even though Yachi squeaks out a loud protest, looking away from the cashier as if failing to look him in the face will somehow diminish the fact that he heard her embarrassingly high-pitched and loud rebuttal. 

"You're not the one with a part-time job," the older girl says, and she has a knack for wrapping a bow on the situation neatly with a phrase. So Yachi says nothing more. 

 _You're not the one with a rich mother_ , she thinks. _I don't even know anything about your family._

Yachi grumbles a little until they reach the halfway point back to her apartment. After that, neither of them says anything. 

 

* * *

 

Two hours into the party, Yachi is sitting between Kageyama and Yamaguchi in the dining room and watching Sawamura rise where he sits at the head of the table. They're all full, sated and having feasted. 

It turns out that shame is a damn good motivator when it comes to a group of volleyball players crestfallen at the thought of their two managers – mostly Shimizu, no one is kidding themselves – finding themselves soundly disappointed in their messy and unorganized party planning skills. Consequently, the girls found a mostly clean apartment when they had gotten back, unfashionable but endearing oldies playing on speakers hauled in by Coach Ukai from his truck sometime after an amused Shimizu had coaxed a solemn Yachi out of the building. By the time the other third years had arrived, all was as well as if it had never been wrong in the first place. Indifferently or out of courtesy, it wasn't apparent which of the two it was, Shimizu deadpanned, “I just got here.”

The whole affair is joyful on the surface, thrumming with misery regardless. No one joins a team sport without knowing that their time there is finite, but no one truly understands the sense of companionship that will come along with the late nights and sweaty walks home with bones aching something terrible. Yachi feels it too, even if she doesn't feel it with the same sharpness that belongs to the others. 

“I, um,” Sawamura for once, looks overwhelmingly sentimental. It's no secret that he distances himself from intense displays of emotion, always looking wary when someone possessing far less restraint than he – namely the first years minus Tsukishima, for example – lashes out in a show of feeling right before him. Now his eyes are a little misty as he lookes over the hushed group. “I want to say a few words to all you, starting with my gratitude for Yachi-san allowing us to have this last gathering at her home. It means a lot to me that you would all arrange something like this—”

The sound of Azumane unsuccessfully muffling his weeping to no avail stops him. Nishinoya punches him on the shoulder, which only works to encourage the tears.

“I’m going to miss being punched by Yū,” he says, wiping his nose.

Ah. A smile ghosts over Yachi's lips, sympathetic as she tends to be, and she reaches across the table and hands him the handkerchief she keeps in her pocket out of habit; her mother always has one, and often encouraged her, as a child, to do the same. Azumane takes it, though he seems to find it too cute to actually use and he ends up staring at the embroidered kitten that sits on one of the pale blue corners.

“We said we weren’t going to cry.”

“No, Daichi, you and Suga said you weren’t going to cry,” Azumane retorts, still fingering the handkerchief. He finally decides to offer it back to Yachi, who accepts it with a half-smile, half-wince.

Coach Ukai shakes his head and scowls, though there is no meanness in that scowl. “You boys act like you’re going off to be buried. It’s not like we’re never going to see you again. Tokyo is a train ride away.”

Sugawara, who is warily rubbing Asahi’s shoulder, says, “You’ll come visit us at university, Coach?”

“Nah. _You_ can come visit _us_. Same gym, same time.”

“Well,” Takeda pipes up, rubbing the back of his head in thought. “With the graduation ceremony having been two days ago, Ennoshita-san is officially captain, and Kinoshita-san is officially vice-captain, and Yachi-san is officially manager. The torch of leadership has been passed down.”

No one finds solace in their teacher’s words except Shimizu, who nods like that is the truest statement she has ever heard. She meets Yachi's eyes for a fragment of a moment, and the younger girl's breath hitches when she sees the strange way that her stare is directed. Half a second, and there is deeper intent there. Like she wants to say something – though not necessarily to Yachi, perhaps she is harboring something else that she wishes to utter at last. 

It passes.

Aware of the sadness perpetrating the room, Takeda sees fit to move the night along. “Daichi-san, please do continue with what you were going to say.”

The former captain then sighs, and makes a point of looking around the room so that he makes eye contact with everyone. “It has been an honor to be your captain. I was never the most important player nor am I the best. But thank you for making me part of the team, and for trusting me to lead. I’ll never forget my years at Karasuno.”

By the time he has finished with his carefully chosen words, everyone is standing – even Yachi, whose arm is tapped carefully by Yamaguchi as he stands, because he seems to understand that she will be too shy to follow suit unless prompted. She appreciates it, and beams at her fellow first year in such a way that it seems like the boys take it that she is as moved as they are for the same reasons.

“I wanted to ask if someone else had something to say,” Sawamura says, but his words are more or less hidden by the hugs in which he is being swallowed, Azumane throwing his arms around him in a tearful fit, Nishinoya pouncing on the crying boy’s back, Ennoshita wiping his eyes nonchalantly and walking over to shake Sawamura’s hand.

“It’s not fair that only Asahi is staying in Miyagi for university,” Hinata mumbles. “You’re all leaving us.”

“Do you want them to put their lives on hold because all you want to do is play high school volleyball forever?” Tsukishima eyes the much shorter first year.

It does not go unnoticed by Yachi that both Yamaguchi and Kageyama look at Tsukishima disapprovingly for that comment, though she knows their reasons are distinctly different.

The whole group dissolves into sections at that point, numerous exchanges taking place at once. Yachi stays put by Yamaguchi, the only one amongst the bunch that values being mellow as much as she does; it gives her comfort, especially at a time like this when all she can think about is how Shimizu is going off to Tokyo to study at the same school that Sawamura and Sugawara will be attending. All three of them are such prominent parts of her life – one more so than the others – and they will be hours away by train. Hours away, when right now they are right here in front of her.

“I’m sad as well,” Yamaguchi whispers, and when Yachi looks at him, she finds that he is looking at Hinata, Tanaka, and Nishinoya in a group hug clustered around Kageyama, and Tsukishima saying something low and private to Sugawara next to them. “Tsukki pretends he doesn’t understand why we’re going to miss them so much, but the truth is he respects Daichi and Suga just as much, if not more, than the rest of us.”

“He told you?” She knows they’re best friends, yes, that much is common knowledge but it’s difficult to imagine Tsukishima admitting to that, even to someone who means as much to him as Yamaguchi does.

“It’s in his eyes.

All she sees in Tsukishima’s eyes is yellow around enlarged pupils when she sees him coming towards the place where she stands next to his friend. But she decides that she’ll take Yamaguchi’s words on faith; she’s learning to do that lately, learning how to take things on faith instead of worrying about how true they are.

It’s slow going, but it’s going.

“I do want to say something,” Shimizu announces, a delayed response to lost words. At once Yachi fixes her eyes on the girl across the room. No emotion is betrayed by her face. When Shimizu speaks, people listen – and the team listens twice as attentively as anyone else. Though she speaks with no gusto, and rarely at a high volume, the sturdiness of her speech demands attention.

“Oi!” Tanaka shouts, determined to gift her with attention that already belongs to her. “Shimizu-san is about to say something, so everyone better listen up!”

“And no one interrupt her or else!” Nishinoya tacks on.

“You’re the only ones interrupting her," Tsukishima says.

“Hey, just let her speak.” Daichi's command is what finally silences everyone, thank goodness, because Yachi is dying to hear what it is that Shimizu wants to say – what she wants to say in front of _everyone_.

Shimizu takes a moment to stare at the ground, collecting her thoughts, then she glances around the room. “Thank you for letting me be your manager. I know the team will continue to prosper under Coach Ukai and Takeda-sensei’s leadership. As I leave you in Yachi-san’s hands, I know that I will be leaving you in the best hands possible.”

She bows quickly, though not all the way, and is blushing when she straightens up, hands clasped together in front of her stomach.

And when the rest of the team, and their coach and teacher, hurry to hug her, hurry to shake her hand, Yachi only hugs those words to her chest and hopes she never forgets them.

 

* * *

 

“Yachi-san,” Shimizu says, and it is late and Yachi is tired enough to imagine that the older girl is floating towards her. For a moment, she truly does believe that the girl is floating, and then she realizes it is because her groggy, post-sleep vision is clouding the image of her. Dazed, she sits up from her spot on the couch, wiping her tired eyes. Most of the boys have gone, and Ukai and Takeda left before everyone else. Only Shimizu, Sugawara, Sawamura, Hinata, and Kageyama remain, all of whom insisted they wanted to help clean up; the latter two were motivated by a recent tie in their perpetual competition, and the entire process was much faster than it may have been otherwise. They had so completely monopolized the cleaning of Yachi’s apartment that she thought it wouldn't be so terrible if she sat down for just a precious few moments.

“How embarrassing,” she murmurs, wiping the nap from her eyes. “I must've fallen asleep.”

“You did. I told them not to wake you.”

“Oh.” At that, Yachi is slightly alarmed. But exhaustion hinders the intensity of emotions; all she can really think about is going back to sleep. “You should have...woken me to help with the cleaning.”

“Kageyama and Hinata did most of it. They left a few minutes ago.”

“Oh,” she repeats, finally standing up with a yawn. There is a stain on her sleeve that she does not recall. “Suga and—”

“We were just leaving,” Sawamura says, his friend trailing him to the door. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“It meant a lot, Hitoka-san.” Sugawara’s smile makes her sleepier with how soft it is. She thinks of pillows and blankets and how much she craves them.

“I’m glad,” she murmurs, averting her eyes to look anywhere but at the three upperclassmen currently in front of her.

They do leave, the door closing gently behind them – Sugawara’s doing.

“I should go as well.”

Yachi nods. Of course. That is logical. Shimizu does not live here, after all.

In her mind, she tells her to stay. 

"Thank you for everything." 

Shimizu looks at Yachi's face, her sleep-weary face and bleary eyes. Like she is indecisive, or still making a half-formulated decision, she says, "Hitoka, I live on the other side of town, and I have to attend the Poetry Society's personal graduation ceremony at Karasuno tomorrow." 

She pauses. Yachi feels more awake hearing that, and she almost leans in with subdued excitement. Thoughts of pillows and blankets are thrown out for thoughts of Shimizu sleeping in her bed and wrapping her arms around her for warmth, using her blonde head as a substitute pillow, Yachi's chin perched on her shoulder. But she's so tired, she can't think like that right now. There was no sleep for her the night before. It's a chronic problem, worsened by the thoughts of party planning racing through her head. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid Hitoka. If you had gone to bed at the right time like a normal person, you would be so much better for Kiyoko._

"You have to stay the night, then." 

But Shimizu does not seem very responsive to that, her thin lips threatening to form that upside down V again. She shuffles her feet, thinking visibly. She says, "Is that alright?" 

_For you, anything and everything._

"Let me set up, erm. Do you want to take the b–"

"I'll sleep on the couch," Shimizu says. Firm. Tough. A bow on a present that Yachi didn't ask for, and that's settled. 

"There are blankets I need to get for you, and pillows." She says it more for herself than for the girl standing in front of her. The ground blurs in her gaze; her knuckles raise to rub at her eyes again. "Pajamas, you have none, and. And."

A hand grasps at her shoulder, though Shimizu's hand is so lax that Yachi almost takes no note of it. 

"Go to bed. I can handle it." 

Drifting in and out of sleep, Yachi lets herself be guided to her bedroom. Shimizu removes her hand only after pushing her with essentially no force at all towards the bed, and Yachi, exhausted as she is, lets herself be forced to sit down. 

"I'm a bad host," she whispers. 

"You're the best host," Shimizu corrects her. 

A sudden thought provides her with subtle energy. "You've got no clothes for tomorrow's event." 

"I have a dress in my car already. We're all changing there."

Yachi opens her mouth, and Shimizu immediately adds, "You're too short to offer me pajamas."

Because there is nothing false about that statement, she can only nod. Shimizu turns her back on her, placing a hand on the edges of the room's doorway. A moment - just a moment, Yachi wants to stand up and wrap her arms around Shimizu's waist, eye level with the top corners of the dip in her back, press a kiss to whatever skin she can find and ask her to lay down with her, innocent intentions only. That's all it would take to make her happy. 

And Shimizu is leaving in a matter of weeks. What would it matter if she confessed to her right now? The rejection would sting for months. Shimizu would have to drive all the way home, disgusted at the thought of sleeping a few feet away from a girl who dreams about her at night. But she would be in Tokyo, and Yachi would be here. They would both forget the fiasco, and each other. 

The thought of having to forget Shimizu hurts more than the thought of being rejected by her. 

She'd rather love her in silence than learn to hate her loudly. 

"There are pillows and blankets in the living room closet," Yachi murmurs, staring at a spot above Shimizu's head now. She doesn't want to look at her back and think about one day having to forget it. 

"Thank you, Hitoka." 

Pause. Heavy, heavy, heavy pause. 

"Good night, Kiyoko." 

 

* * *

 

Yachi oversleeps. 

When she wakes up and remembers that Shimizu spent the night, she can only emerge from her room at an agonizingly slow pace. She knows the voice of silence too well to truly hope she will not find herself alone. 

The note on the coffee table says, 

_Had to leave very early. Thanks for everything._

_See you._

_Kiyoko_

"Why do you like giving me hope?" Yachi murmurs. 

She puts the note in her pocket and keeps it there all day. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the story goes like this: i disconnected from fandom for awhile against my better judgment, reconnected with it, watched haikyuu!!, fell in love with these lesbians, and wrote this 
> 
> i haven't started a multichap work in years, but it feels good to have something to commit to. i have this more or less outlined, but i also have a habit of really not paying attention to my outlines whenever i just don't feel like it so depending on my mood a few things that i had planned could change although i do know where this is going and i do know how it will end (hint: happily). i prefer not to write multichap fics all at once because i am constantly finding new inspiration in the world 
> 
> tentative preview of chapter 2: summer shenanigans w/ yachi and her first year boiz (bc hina/kags/yama/tsukki/yachi is v important to me), seeing kiyoko off, some more pining (smh yachi get it together)
> 
> the title was inspired by arthur rimbaud's poem "novel" (my fave)
> 
> lmk what u think thx
> 
> live updates on [my pitiful twitter](http:www.twitter.com/tsukishimajpg)


End file.
